What You Want: 4/6

[squishyturtle.livejournal.com]

Title: What You Want, part 4
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Summary: Howard's looking for the perfect gift for Vince, so he resorts to reading his mind. As you do. And gets more than he bargained for, of course.
Word Count: 3600
Rating: PG-13 (I think)
Disclaimer: I don't own Howard, Vince or the Boosh, no harm or profit intended. Don't kill me! (I've got so much to give)

Author’s Notes: Slow writer is slow. Also, I am pretty sure there are only two parts left and they both have actual slash. Finally. You've certainly waited long enough. Also, the book is back!

PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE

PART FOUR

Apart from an inauspicious entrance by Naboo and Bollo (both very hungover) around 11:30, the rest of the day seemed to go by in a flash of unusually cheerful banter and recycled crimps.

When Vince started to pack up whatever he was doing with all that cellophane and head for the stairs, it took Howard a moment to realise the day had gone by in a flash because Vince had only been at work for 3 hours.

“Bit early, isn't it?” Howard asked him, ready with a speech on responsible work ethics.

Vince stopped at the bottom of the staircase and Howard could hear him mentally bracing himself for a lecture – which kind of took the wind out of Howard's hawaiian print sails. “I'm going out,” he said, with just a hint of a defiant sulk. “Vectra's having an early christmas party.” He stood, one foot on the bottom step, and fidgeted. Inside, his mind was even more restless, like a caged lion – and Howard was the cage.

“Oh,” Howard said, and on impulse, abandoned his speech. “Have fun then.”

There was a moment of silence from Vince, both in his head and out loud. Then, “Really? That's it?”

Howard really didn't want to get into a big discussion over why Vince wanted to get away from him so badly and why Howard could never seem to let him go without a fuss. “Yes, really. I'm not your wife, Vince.” Howard snapped his mouth shut, sure he had meant to say 'dad' or something. Something less embarrassing and awkward than wife. It was alright when other people made insinuations, but he wasn't supposed to be perpetuating them at home.

Vince frowned at that. “I know.” Both his face and his mind showed a strange feeling Howard couldn't decipher, something too twisted up to understand. “I know you're not.”

“Well,” said Howard, “good.” He straightened the hem of his turtleneck and tried to think of something else to say. “You should... go get ready.”

“Yeah,” Vince muttered, and disappeared up the stairs. His mind was a blank, except for a lingering, startlingly clear picture of Howard, watching him go.

 

***
 

From behind the shop counter (half heartedly pretending to be working), Howard had a rare front row seat to Vince's mysterious getting-ready process.

It was all a bit baffling and overwhelming, though Vince had a carefully planned mental timeline that he followed almost to the second, washing and wrapping and scrunching and shaving and zipping and moisturising and smoothing and tying and tucking every inch of his body and his wardrobe. There was also a fair amount of psyching himself up, as if he was going to a prize fight, or an algebra test, instead of a party. And of course, a LOT of checking himself out in the mirror.

It took forever – it was closing time by the time he was done, even with the late closing for the christmas season. Howard thought it all seemed a bit exhausting and pointless.

Especially because when Vince finally came back downstairs, there wasn't really much of a difference.

“How do I look?” he asked Howard, striking a dramatic pose next to the counter, though Howard could feel his anxiety.

As if in answer, the bell over the door chimed as two girls walked into the shop. They immediately caught sight of Vince, who was still posing like a tit, and seemed to go into cardiac arrest or something.

“Oh my gooooohh...” the taller one breathed, and fainted.

The shorter one made a choking noise and promptly burst into tears, ignoring her friend crumpled on the floor of the shop. She kept frantically wiping her tears away so that she could see Vince clearly again.

Vince grinned at Howard. “Never mind, I guess that answers that.”

Howard scowled as Vince dealt with the girls (who kept pawing at him and whimpering). He didn't see what all the fuss was about, Vince looked the same as he always did, although maybe slightly shinier. And alright, maybe that shimmery stuff around his eyes made the blue stand out a bit more, but his stupid girly eyes were always that ridiculously large and bright, and it wasn't like he usually wore dark glasses everywhere. And there was no point spending hours applying lipgloss if he was only going to make that arrogant face (completely at odds with his self-conscious thoughts) in place of his usual megawatt smile. Howard didn't understand why people acted like Vince had suddenly transformed into something beautiful, just because he smothered himself in make up and accessories and-

“Are you wearing... tinsel?” Howard blurted out.

Vince turned from locking the door and flipping the sign to 'closed', and gave Howard a sheepish grin. “Genius, isn't it? Thought I'd get into the festive spirit of it all. Reckon it'll be in Cheekbone by the time I get home.”

He gave a dainty twirl across the shop, the thin ribbon of silver tinsel glittering enticingly at the hem of his shirt. (Outside, the fainting girl hit the ground again.)

“Stop vandalising our christmas tree,” Howard said, distracted by all the sparkling and shimmering.

It wasn't like it would make a difference – he'd let Vince do the tree this year, and the proud green fir had become a solid mass of multicoloured tinsel with nary a pine needle peeking through, dotted with mirrorballs in a rainbow of shades.

“You can't even tell,” Vince muttered, recalling the christmas tree with equal amounts of embarrassment and fondness.

Vince's mind was all different not he was dressed up like this. There was excitement and anticipation and all that, of course, but other things too. He was more confident, feeling almost invincible, but at the same time nervous, now that he had made such an effort – an effort that could potentially be judged inadequate. His thoughts were bright and fast, but though they were still nonsensical, he had buried that childish wonder that turned his idle wonderings into wildly imaginative dreamscapes.

“Alright,” Vince said decisively. “I'm off.”

“Don't forget your gifts,” Howard said without thinking, and then had a nice moment of complete panic when he realised he only knew about the gifts from eavesdropping on Vince's brain all evening.

Vince didn't seem to notice. “Eurgh, don't remind me. I hate giving people presents, they'll probably all hate them.”

“What? But you give great presents!”

That earned him a smile, and a weird happy-sad-resigned-fond feeling that kept popping up in Vince's thoughts around Howard. “To you maybe. But you're special.”

There was a tiny moment of silence where they both stared.

“I mean, you're different,” Vince said, and his thoughts were too jumbled up to decipher, like a tiny blizzard inside his brain. “You're very predictable.” He shook his head and pulled his you're-such-a-freak face, but it seemed to be directed at himself this time. “Anyway, I'd better go. Rubbish presents to deliver.”

He collected his bag of presents from the cupboard outside the storeroom and slung it over his shoulder like a glam rock Santa. He muttered a goodbye and left in a whirlwind of sparkle and embarrassment.

Vince's brain was still all jumbly as he walked down the street, but Howard as distracted by the realisation that so far his plan to read his friend's mind to find out the perfect christmas present was a complete failure.

He'd been listening in for almost two days now, and Vince was yet to drop any helpful hints about what he wanted. This was not the result he had expected.

It was time to consult the book.

Having squirrelled it away under his bed last time, Howard didn't have to venture into Naboo's room to retrieve his papery partner in crime. The book was a bit dusty when he dragged it out, but otherwise unharmed.

Howard flipped open to about the middle, and took a deep breath. “Help!” he hissed at it, perhaps a little too aggressively.

'CHRIST,' the book wrote in enormous, messy letters. 'Steady on, I was sleeping!'

Howard blinked. “Um... okay,” he said, slightly calmer. “Sorry.”

'What do you want now?'

He drew the book closer, mindful of Naboo and Bollo across the hall. “It's not working!” he whined.

'What isn't?' the book wrote, somehow giving the impression of confusion through its handwriting (which was pretty impressive, when he thought about it).

“The mind reading spell. I need to find the perfect christmas gift for someone special. The best gift in the whole universe. But so far the spell hasn't told me anything useful at all!”

'Oh, I see what this is about,' the book replied, though Howard sincerely doubted it did see what this was about – or anything else really, having no eyes to see. 'Mate, when it comes to lady loves, you don't have to impress 'em with fancy gifts – you'll just have to top it with a better gift next year. You just need to find her clitoris. Also, owl beaks. Can't go wrong.'

“Find her – what?” Howard blustered. “What are you talking about? And he's not a lady!”

'Oh right,' the book promptly wrote back. 'Gentleman loves then. No judgement here.'

“It's not like that!” Howard hissed, blushing furiously.

'Sure it isn't. I see your shifty eyes, I know the truth when I see it.'

Howard opened his mouth to protest, and then shut it abruptly and found himself looking for little book-y eyeballs somewhere. “Wait, how do you see that?”

'It's obvious mate. Clear as day. Any fool can see you're in love.' That stupid handwriting was definitely looking smug now.

“That is not what I meant!” Howard snapped.

'Don't fight it man!' the book wrote quickly in large, lazy letters. 'Give in to the feeling!'

“Will you shut up?!” Howard yelped, and then tensed at a sound outside the door.

'Ow! Alright mate, ease up the grip there, this dust jacket's old and feeble enough without you scrunching me up.'

Howard unclenched his hands from around the book's covers. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I'm just very... frustrated. I thought this would work.”

'I could have told you it wouldn't,' the book said, helpfully.

“But I wanted to know what he wanted, more than anything else! And if he wouldn't tell me, I thought I'd go straight to the source. But all I got was sparkles and rainbows and daft fashion trends. His brain is like a five year old's craft project.”

'Maybe you're just not doing it right,' the book suggested, and Howard frowned. 'Thoughts aren't all black and white like words, they're all muddled and confusing. And then you're only getting them second hand, translated by a spell. You've just got to learn what his feelings feel like. Work out what's a happy feeling, work out what's a sad feeling, or fear, or... want. When you can tell which feeling is want, just from what you're getting through the spell, then you can wait and see what he's thinking about when he feels it again.'

Howard blinked, and read it over again.

'Go on,' the book prompted. 'What's he feeling now?'

Howard breathed slowly and concentrated on the link to Vince. “It's sort of... jittery. Energetic, thinking all over the place. Maybe a bit... braced for something? But eager, moving forward and fast. He's almost at the party.”

'Sounds like he's nervous and excited,' the book explained. 'Especially if he's going to a party.'

Howard shook his head. “That can't be right though, he's never nervous. Everyone loves him, he's like the patron saint of parties.”

'No pressure,' was the book's cryptic reply. 'Just saying. And just because you love him doesn't mean everyone else does.'

“I don't-!” Howard started, and then rethought. “Well, I mean... not in that way.”

'HA!' was all the book wrote, in letters almost as big as its pages.

“Shut up!” Howard hissed, face burning hot once more. “What do you know? You're the stupidest book I've ever read, you papery pillock. I don't need you anyway. I'm a thoughtful, intelligent, considerate modern gentleman-”

'And modest, too.'

“-And I'm going to make it the best christmas ever, while you sit here and... gather dust.”

'Fa la la la la, la la fuck you.'

Howard slammed the book shut.

And then he had that stupid carol stuck in his head.

 

***

Thankfully, the annoying christmas carol was pushed out of his mind by the mental overload that was Vince's entrance to the party.

He certainly got enough attention. People all through the crowded party stopped to ogle him and fan themselves. It was strange though, Vince didn't seem to pay much attention to the various pretty girls and boys now reaching for the smelling salts. It was more like a roll call, checking for approval and switching his focus to the next person when he got it.

Which was pretty stupid. He had to know he was amazing – that is, he was the embodiment of all that stupid, shallow trendy stuff that his friends liked and Howard couldn't stand. Also, alright, he was pretty good in other ways too, when you looked past all the eyeliner and sequins. But Howard knew that Vince knew how good he was. He'd spent all day getting a fairly steady mental feed of Vince's conviction that he was the coolest thing in London. It was just hard to reconcile this need for constant approval with the assurance that he deserved said approval.

Howard tried not to think about the fact that Vince usually got a whole lot less public appreciation when he was hanging around his jazzy freak of a best mate.

After the initial gasps and rapturous cries at his entrance, Vince was surrounded by pretty girls following him around like groupies. He was flirting like a pro, flashing that cheeky, coy grin and using lines that made Howard blush.

Reluctantly, as if to prove the book wrong in its criticism of his methods, Howard tried to pick out Vince's feelings as he wooed.

But the results weren't what he expected. The feeling wasn't all warm and touchy like he'd expected – instead there was a buoyant sensation Howard thought was Vince feeling pleased, and something squirmy and bubbly he was pretty sure was amusement. And even, faintly, a restless sort of feeling that said his interest wasn't really being held.

Now that he thought about it, Vince wasn't even focused enough to give Howard a clear picture of the girls currently being subjected to the infamous Noir charm.

Okay. It was entirely possible the book was right, and Howard had no idea how to read Vince, because he was clearly misinterpreting the signals here.

Vince had already downed three drinks when he headed to the dance floor, where the link to his mind became a jumbled flood of sensation – noise and energy, flashing lights and sweaty bodies and the irresistible influence of the pulsing beat.

And stronger than everything else, the raw, artless ecstasy of dancing like nobody was watching, and knowing everyone was.

Howard needed a drink.

He started with a scotch on the rocks, because that was the sort of drink he thought a man of culture like himself should partake of. And then he realised there was no one around to see him, so he downed it in one and nicked one of Vince's lurid magenta alcopops from the fridge.

Now, despite being a large, well built figure of masculinity, Howard was, on the rare occasion, just a tiny little bit of a lightweight. Just a little bit.

So after one scotch and two alcopops, combined with the constant stream of drunken revelry flooding in from Vince's brain, Howard found himself sprawled comfortably on the floor of his bedroom, lost in the joyful oblivion of Vince's mind.

He was starting to understand what Vince saw in parties, if this is what they were like for him. Howard felt amazing. Nothing in the world mattered, he was nothing but Vince's body twisting and writhing in the crowd. No one judged him too old or too beige, no one forgot his name or called him nasty names instead, no one laughed at his efforts or told him he was worthless. No one decided he didn't deserve Vince. He was invincible.

And it was all Vince. Everything was Vince.

 

***

 

The party didn't wind down until the wee hours of the morning, in the time before the sky lightened when everything was drained of colour. Howard still didn't open his eyes where he lay on the floor, and the pain in Vince's feet was stronger than the ache in his own back.

Vince was exhausted. He'd danced and drank and charmed all night, and his mind had settled into a soft, satisfied lethargy.

He left the party to wild, drunken cries of 'Merry Christmas!' and 'Marry me, Vince!', mixed liberally with raucous laughter and grabby hands. People were snogging in every corner, trampling discarded bunches of mistletoe under their high heels and chelsea boots, and while Howard blushed, Vince barely noticed.

He started thinking about Howard the second he was out the door. The closer he got to the flat (in the backseat of a mostly sober friend's battered car), the softer and warmer his thoughts got, though Howard had given up trying to interpret the spell's second hand information.

By the time the car pulled up outside the shop, Howard had dragged himself up and out to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Vince lumbered up the stairs, kicked off his boots in the living room, and nearly leapt out of his skin when he saw Howard.

Of course, Howard got to feel the full force of his shock through the spell, and nearly had a heart attack himself.

“Christy Howard,” Vince breathed, slurring slightly and clutching his chest. “You scared the life out of me. What are you doing up so late?”

He didn't seem to require an answer, immediately wobbling over to the kettle and trying to switch it on, despite the fact that it was already starting to whistle merrily.

“It's already on,” Howard pointed out, and switched it off.

Vince looked delighted. “Oh! Cheers, Howard.”

“Good party?” Howard asked, as if he didn't know already.

“Yeah,” Vince said quietly, and looked up at Howard through his fringe, a smile spreading over his face like sunshine. “Yeah, it was.”

They both fell silent, staring at each other, any plans of making tea forgotten.

“That's good,” Howard whispered, and then couldn't work out why he was whispering.

“Yeah,” Vince whispered back.

“Have you got a bit of plant in your hair?” Howard blurted out, breaking the whispering spell.

“What?” Vince blinked, and rummaged in his wildly tangled black mop. Sure enough, he plucked out a twig with some fairly sad looking leaves and berries still clinging to it. He laughed. “Oh! Mistletoe.”

Howard froze, suddenly aware how close Vince was standing.

“From the party,” Vince explained, as if he could have gotten mistletoe in his hair anywhere else. His mind was a rush of mixed up thoughts, but Howard's own brain was overloading too much to decipher any of it. He grinned impishly and lifted the mistletoe above his head. “You're s'posed to kiss under it,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Howard said without thinking.

Vince just stared. He shuffled his feet and shifted his weight, and somehow ended up even closer, until Howard could feel the warmth of him.

His breath smelled of sugary alcopops and his clothes smelled like smoke, and it should have been disgusting, Howard should have been disgusted at being close enough to know that, but it wasn't, and he wasn't. It should all have been disgusting – he could see Vince's pores, his crumbly mascara, the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, every imperfection, he should have been disgusting, but it wasn't, and he wasn't.

Both their minds were racing too fast to follow. Howard couldn't speak, couldn't think, and all he was getting from Vince was this desperate, aching, hungry sensation he didn't understand.

Without his consent, he felt his weight shift as if to move, saw Vince's gaze drop to his mouth.

And then-

Don't, Vince thought. Don't do it. He'll freak out, he'll hate you, he'll leave you alone. Don't.

And Howard listened.

He stepped back and shook his head to clear away the impenetrable fog clouding his thoughts. “Stupid tradition, really,” he heard his own voice say, “kissing under a plant. Why would a plant be an occasion for that? Are you supposed to hug when you see dandelions? Make a sandwich when you see a palm tree?”

Vince exhaled all at once, blinked, and then laughed, too loud in the silence. “Yeah, you're right. That is pretty stupid.” He turned away. “Well, I'm off to bed. Big night, you know, reckon I could sleep for days.”

“For weeks,” Howard said without thinking.

“Years,” Vince answered. “A hundred years, like sleeping beauty, yeah? Waiting for... well, you know.”

Howard coughed.

“Goodnight then,” Vince murmured, and threw him another sweet, warm smile.

“Sweet dreams,” Howard said, but Vince was already gone.

 

PART FIVE

Comments

[pitpony13.livejournal.com]

This is brilliant! I can't wait for more!

[dubioussoul.livejournal.com]

HOWARD, YOU ARE SO, SO THICK.
I love this!

[jackiethomas73.livejournal.com]

really lovely, I love the feeling of yearning.

[mythril.livejournal.com]

Another fab chapter! Love the bit with the mistletoe. Can't wait to see when Howard will finally catch on. <3

[monooccularcat.livejournal.com]

WRONG TIME TO LISTEN HOWARD!

Lookie at you, making me caps lock.

I'm really enjoying the way you craft your words.

[xthursdaynextx.livejournal.com]

Aw, stupid Howard! I'm enjoying this fic :)

[savanna-says-hi.livejournal.com]

Why would a plant be an occasion for that? Are you supposed to hug when you see dandelions? Make a sandwich when you see a palm tree? Ahahaha. I love this fic and I can't wait for Howard to stop being STUPID. <3

[doctorpancakes.livejournal.com]

Howard, you dummy! Oh I just want to slap him and be like DON'T YOU TWO REALIZE THAT YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER?!

I can't wait to see what happens next!!!

[ftw302.livejournal.com]

OMG MORE OF THIS <3 <3

This...this is so cute <3 <3 <3 <3 I love this story. OMG and real slash coming up?? HOWARD YOU ARE SO DUMB you too Vince, like anyone would object to being kissed by Vince Noir

[bookends999.livejournal.com]

No one judged him too old or too beige, no one forgot his name or called him nasty names instead, no one laughed at his efforts or told him he was worthless. No one decided he didn't deserve Vince. He was invincible.

And it was all Vince. Everything was Vince.

Oh Howard. Those sentences :( Poor Howard. I know.

I literally had an ache right in my chest by the time I finished reading. Loving this story to bits <3

[squishyturtle.livejournal.com]

YAY, that is my favourite bit XD (... of my own writing. Is that conceited?)
Naw, I feel bad that I'm happy about your ache. It gets better!

[graymalkin13.livejournal.com]

I love this! I love Vince's Christmas tree, lurid magenta alcopops, and most of all, the book! And how subtle the emotions are, running beneath the humor. Take some speed or something and give us more!

[meobnal.livejournal.com]

And Howard listened.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO :(

[squishyturtle.livejournal.com]

There there! It gets better, I promise! Howard's just a pillock, he can't help it. <3

[500daysofbummer.livejournal.com]

oh howard :/

obviously i love all of this!!! <3